by Jim Stovall
Hamilton casually sat at the counsel table, glanced up at Jason, and said, “Jason, why don’t you tell them what happened.”
Jason paused, took a deep breath, and began. “Well, in all of my trips into and out of the court building last month, I had to walk past that vacant block down the street. I heard a number of people throughout the area comment on how, for years, they had wanted to have a park there. Apparently there had been petitions, fund drives, demonstrations, and lawsuits, but nothing had ever happened.
“My grandfather taught me, through his words and through his life, the power of someone with a vision who is willing to simply go to work.
“After court was dismissed last month, I went over to that vacant land and, among the rubble, found a number of old wooden utility poles. I just got some tools, cut up those poles, and did the only thing I knew how to do. I started building a fence around the vacant land. Then kids, teenagers, retired people, and all sorts of others began showing up and asking what I was doing. I let them know that this was going to be a park if we were all willing to believe it and simply work for it. I told them we didn’t need the government, or a bond issue, or a lawsuit or a demonstration. We just needed a big dream and a little work.
“While I kept building the fence, some kids started cleaning up the area. Local business leaders made arrangements to have grass planted and trees put in. Several contractors used concrete left over from other projects to build sidewalks and a parking lot. And, well …”
Jason paused meekly and looked up at me and said, “Your Honor, I think if you’ll walk over there, you’ll notice that we got a park.”
Applause rippled throughout the courtroom. I reached for my gavel to call for silence but decided it could wait a few moments while the applause continued.
I smiled at Mr. Hamilton then down at Jason as I spoke.
“Let the record show that it is the finding of this court that Jason Stevens has demonstrated not only his understanding of The Gift of Work but his uncanny ability to pass it on to others. We will take up the matter of the next gift, being The Gift of Money, at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. This court is adjourned.”
Money is the fruit of our efforts and the fuel for our dreams.
Four
THE LIFE OF MONEY
I enjoy a brisk walk, watching a sunrise, and being in a pleasant park. The next morning, I was doing all three at the same time. There is something about watching the sun perched on the horizon that brings an emotional punctuation to the day.
My beloved wife, Marie, shares my sentiments regarding observing the sun on the horizon. However, she feels that the sunset is more in tune with her schedule than the sunrise.
The air felt crisp and clean that morning in the park. It wasn’t just any park. I was walking in the new Howard “Red” Stevens Urban Park as the sign at the entrance had proclaimed. The sign also informed me, and anyone else entering, that “This park is dedicated to and provided by the hard work of people in this community.”
The sunrise was magnificent from my park perspective. I was just a mere stone’s throw from the courthouse. In fact, I could see the sunrise reflecting off the picture window in my chambers; however, I was struck with how a different view can entirely change one’s perspective on the world. This seemed to me to be a good thing for a judge to keep in mind, both figuratively and literally. Often, judges are forced to use the law and their intellect to come to a decision that is opposed to the ruling their heart wants them to make.
I settled onto a park bench and observed, among other things, a rather fit young lady wearing some type of space-age form-fitting jogging suit, making her way around the perimeter of the park followed closely by her dog. The dog was some kind of Labrador-terrier mix. When the pair reached the open space in the park across from me, they stopped, apparently having completed their route.
The young woman reached into a backpack and took out a tennis ball. She threw it a short distance, and her dog leapt into action, retrieved the ball, and brought it back to her. She repeated this process several times as I casually looked on. Then she reached into her backpack and withdrew several more tennis balls. This time when the dog returned, she threw out two tennis balls. The dog was quite skilled and was actually able to get both of them situated in his mouth and bring them back to the young woman.
But then she threw out four tennis balls. The dog ran eagerly toward the cluster of tennis balls. He frolicked about excitedly like a child in a candy store, having four tennis balls to retrieve; however, his best efforts repeatedly failed as he tried to get all of the tennis balls in his mouth at once.
As I enjoyed this process from afar, I couldn’t help but allow thoughts of the Stevens’ case to enter my mind. Overnight, I had watched several news reports that featured Mr. Dudly with Red Stevens’ son Jack in tow. I was struck by the fact that Jack Stevens had inherited several hundred million dollars, but somehow it wasn’t enough. He was risking losing it all because he wanted more.
The dog grew more frustrated and agitated as each time he would pick up one or two of the tennis balls, they would slip from his mouth as he tried to retrieve a third one.
As I rose from the park bench and began making my way toward the courthouse in the distance, the dog became so frustrated he ran in circles, howled, and rolled over onto his back with all four paws in the air.
As I passed him, I told him, “You remind me of some humans I know.”
He cocked his head and moaned. Somehow I don’t think he appreciated the comparison.
I waved at the young lady and smiled as I passed. She pointed at her dog and said, “Sometimes he’s not too bright.”
I chuckled and replied, “Well, it happens to the best of us.”
I was looking forward to having dinner that night with Marie at one of our favorite restaurants. I somehow knew she would be really fascinated with the lesson I had learned from the attractive young woman in spandex and her dog. But I had a day in court with many miles to go before my dinner with Marie.
“All rise,” Paul, my bailiff, somberly intoned as I climbed the familiar three steps and settled into my place. I gaveled the proceedings to order and organized my thoughts.
I had hoped that counsel for the Stevens’ family might let my previous day’s ruling stand without protest or objection, but I didn’t have much confidence in that happening.
“Your Honor,” Dudly beckoned.
I glared at him and inquired, “Yes, what is it?” as I began to realize my fears.
He replied, “We have a number of objections and motions that justice and the gravity of this case require us to make.”
I nodded, accepting my fate.
He continued. “Your Honor, first and foremost, we object to Mr. Stevens’ escapades in the park being ruled as actual work, pertaining to The Gift of Work as outlined in Red Stevens’ will documents. Jason Stevens received no money or other remuneration for his efforts; therefore, we believe that he did not do any work, nor does he have the ability to guide others utilizing Red Stevens’ Trust to understand and accomplish their work. For the purposes of this matter, having not earned any money, Mr. Stevens’ efforts are worthless.”
Mr. Hamilton cleared his throat and made an offhanded comment from his seat. “Your Honor, if not earning money through work makes someone worthless, Mr. Dudly’s clients would, indeed, have to be ruled worthless. We believe Red Stevens’ desires were very clear and that Jason Stevens far exceeded the requirements of the will.”
I nodded toward Mr. Hamilton and replied, “I would have to agree with you, Mr. Hamilton.”
I shifted my gaze toward Mr. Dudly. “Objection overruled.”
Dudly turned the next page in what appeared to be an ominously lengthy document.
He continued. “Your Honor, we further object to Mr. S
tevens’ unauthorized, unethical, and indeed illegal activities that he somehow has come to call an urban park.”
Mr. Dudly intoned the words urban park as if they were somehow distasteful and beneath him.
My patience was growing thin. I pointed my gavel at him and said, “Counselor, if you have a point in all this, I would like you to make it now.”
L. Myron Dudly reddened slightly and cleared his throat. He knew he was on very thin ice, but he collected himself and waded in.
“Your Honor, Mr. Jason Stevens would have to obtain building permits, city and county right-of-way zoning variances, and deal with employment issues as well as child labor laws in order to have appropriately conducted his activities over the past month. Furthermore, his trust fund and the proceeds of the estate have all been frozen, and as Mr. Hamilton is working apparently for a fee involving a cup of coffee, there are obviously a number of financial irregularities, if not downright illegal misappropriations, involved here.”
Theodore J. Hamilton forcefully cleared his throat and ponderously rose to his full height.
“Your Honor, if you will allow me, I may be able to clear up all of the fog created by Mr. Dud—”
Hamilton experienced one of his brief coughing fits and did not even bother to complete the second syllable of Mr. Dudly’s name.
Dudly rocketed to his feet and pounded his clenched fist on the counsel table.
“Your Honor, how long must I suffer these indignities?”
Hamilton looked at Dudly innocently and said, “I’m the one suffering the cough here. Are you experiencing any ailments, counselor?”
Dudly’s face achieved the color and hue of one of my beloved sunrises.
Hamilton stated with dignity, “May it please the court, I beg Mr. Dudly’s indulgence with regards to any annoyance created by my advanced years.”
Dudly shot back, “When I get to be eighty, I can assure you I won’t be annoying people in the courtroom.”
Hamilton smiled beneficently and announced, “Mr. Dudly, I believe we can all agree you won’t have to wait till you’re eighty as you have adequately and repeatedly demonstrated your vast ability to annoy people now.”
Mr. Dudly’s face achieved an even brighter sunrise coloring as he dropped into his chair in frustration.
I pounded my gavel for order, and the courtroom finally grew silent once again.
Hamilton spoke. “Your Honor, I am hoping we can avoid wasting the court’s time with each minute detail. I am prepared to stake my reputation as a member of the Bar for well over half a century that the zoning permits, easements, variances, work permits, and all other state, county, and municipal documents are in order and have been duly filed. I can assure the court of this as it was handled most expeditiously by the law firm of Hamilton, Hamilton, and Hamilton.”
Dudly whined, “What about the money? Where did all of the funds come from for that so-called park?”
Hamilton smiled magnificently and, with a gleam in his eye, proudly stated, “Yes. Thank you for bringing that to the court’s attention and my recollection. There was, indeed, a generous donation made to the newly formed Community Urban Park Fund.”
Mr. Hamilton paused opportunely, shuffled through a stack of papers, found the one he apparently had been seeking, and continued as he slipped on his antique reading glasses.
“Yes, here it is. A registered letter, duly signed and notarized, accompanied by a cashier’s check made out to the Community Fund.”
Dudly interrupted. “Your Honor, I object. Would you please direct counsel to reveal the source of the so-called funds?”
Hamilton indignantly continued after glaring at Dudly.
“Thank you, counselor. I was just getting to that prior to your last eruption. Although the benefactor wished to remain low profile, if not indeed anonymous, I have been authorized to reveal to the court that all outstanding expenses required to complete the Howard ‘Red’ Stevens Urban Park were donated by a newly formed organization.”
Hamilton adjusted his glasses and peered at the document he held.
“This newly formed organization is known as the Alpine Texas Fence Builders Corporation. Your Honor, the ownership of this newly formed corporation seems to be covered by a number of trusts and shell corporations, but I can assure the court that the corporation itself, and the funds received for the Community Park, are legal and well accounted for.”
Dudly lowered his head onto the counsel table in front of him. The other members of the Dudly, Cheetham, and Leech team seemed perplexed and agitated. Grumblings and mutterings could be heard from the assembled Stevens clan arrayed in the rows of seats behind Mr. Dudly.
I let the silence draw out for several moments and spoke.
“Hearing no other motions or objections, I believe we can press on with today’s business before the court. Today with respect to Red Stevens’ last will and testament, we will be hearing arguments surrounding Jason Stevens’ response to The Gift of Money portion of The Ultimate Gift as well as the court’s findings with respect to Jason Stevens’ ability to manage several billion dollars in Red Stevens’ Trust to benefit society relating to The Gift of Money.”
I gestured toward Mr. Hamilton.
He responded as a matter of fact, “Your Honor, we are satisfied that Jason Stevens did, indeed, perform sufficiently regarding The Gift of Money, and he is, therefore, qualified to manage the trust as outlined in the last will and testament of Red Stevens.”
My gaze had barely settled on Mr. Dudly when he spoke. “Your Honor, we call Jason Stevens.”
Jason was seated in the witness box, and I informed him and everyone present that he was already sworn and would still be under oath with regard to his testimony in the matter.
Dudly began. “Mr. Stevens, have you ever earned any money in your entire life?”
Jason shook his head slowly.
Dudly bore in, saying, “Please answer the court.”
Jason said, “No.”
“Have you ever managed or invested any money?” Dudly inquired.
“Not really,” Jason responded.
“Then can you please tell this court how any reasonable person could trust you to earn and manage your own money, much less several billion dollars that should rightly be inherited by my clients?”
Dudly gestured to the assembled relatives on his side of the courtroom.
When Jason did not answer, Dudly shrugged and commented, “Well, I guess we have our answer. We have no further questions.”
Hamilton approached Jason. “Jason, isn’t it true that after you spent a month in Texas building a fence for Gus Caldwell, that you were given a certain amount of money as directed by your grandfather’s will?”
Jason replied, “Yes, I guess they figured that I would have earned about fifteen hundred dollars for that fence I built, so I was given that much and told to go out and find people whose lives could be helped by the money.”
Hamilton nodded and said, “So, what did you do then?”
Jason gazed off into the distance as if remembering a different time and place, and then he spoke as if recalling a fond memory.
“Well, first I found a group of Scouts who were two-hundred dollars short in their fund-raising to go to their Jamboree. Then a woman with a baby was having her car repossessed, and I gave her four hundred dollars to keep her car. Next, I found a family shopping in a toy store. The parents told the children that Santa would not come this year. When the children were in another area of the store, I gave the parents three hundred dollars to make sure Santa would make it to their house. Next, I found an old lady sitting on a bench crying because she didn’t have the money to buy her husband’s heart medication.”
Jason paused and looked up at me. There were tears in his eyes as he continued.
“They’d
been married fifty-seven years, and she told me they had never missed a payment in all those years. I gave her two hundred dollars, which would cover three months of the heart medication with twenty dollars left over for her to take her husband, Harold, out to lunch at his favorite place. And last, I discovered a car broken down at the side of the road where I met a young man named Brian. He needed his car to get back and forth to work or he was going to lose his job. The mechanic said it was going to be seven hundred dollars, so I gave him the money.”
Hamilton smiled as if looking at a son of whom he was most proud. Hamilton glanced up at me and then out at the gallery and said, “I believe that meets the terms and conditions of Red Stevens’ will.”
Dudly sprung to his feet and said, “Your Honor, we object.”
He was holding an adding machine tape dangling from his left hand. One of the Dudly, Cheetham, and Leech clerks at the end of the counsel table actually had an adding machine in front of him.
Dudly smirked defiantly at Hamilton and stated, “Your client was directed to spend fifteen hundred dollars but claims to have spent eighteen hundred. This points out the fact that Jason Stevens cannot take care of his own money, much less billions of dollars which my clients are lawfully entitled to.”
I glanced over at Mr. Hamilton.
He responded, “Jason, can you explain the three-hundred-dollar discrepancy in this matter?”
Jason seemed at a loss and spoke. “Well, he really needed the car, and it cost seven hundred.”
Hamilton continued. “So where did the other three hundred dollars come from?”
Jason seemed nervous but spoke forcefully. “I got the three hundred out of my pocket.”
Dudly blurted out, “I object. Obviously, this does not meet the criteria set forth by Red Stevens. He was to distribute fifteen hundred dollars and, in doing so, demonstrate he could manage money. I don’t find that he accomplished this.”